


The Long Way Around

by AceQueenKing



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gen, Mythology References, Post-Canon, Resurrection, Underworld, background Hades/Persephone - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 13:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17142509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: "Keep your wits about you," Hermes whispered to her. "You'll sing for the boy again if you do."Before she could say anything, Hermes slowly drifted away like a quicksilver grey cloud, as bright as Hades had been dark, and then in mere seconds, he was gone and she was left in the dim old hall with only the god of death for company.





	The Long Way Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebandsvisit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebandsvisit/gifts).



She was just beginning to smell the sunlit fields when he turned without warning, looking back to her with a desperate thirst. Eurydice knew the rules, knew what they had agreed to. Knew Orpheus had broken the agreement.

Knew, at that moment, that she was dead. Again.

She felt the strange traveling god grab her elbow an instant later. He'd taken her coin when she first went down to Hadestown, now he was taking her down for free. He squeezed her hand in a way that she thought was meant to be reassuring. It wasn't.

"You're gonna sing again, little songbird," he hummed. "Don't you lose hope now. It's dark down in these halls but you can't lose hope. You'll see him again, if you're clever enough."  The god's eyes were quicksilver, like the mercury she'd used on the line, dripping tiny bits of the caustic liquid into thermometers that in turn were used to measure the heat of the forges that in turn melted down dead fossils and in turn were used to make more and more products whose profits she'd never seen and never would.

She said nothing to the god. The only thing she could think was: it was easy to say don't lose hope when you _can_ leave.

He patted her arm. "It’s a sad song alright, but we're gonna sing it again."

"What?" She asked, but he shook his head with a soft smile, and then opened the door to a heavy hall.

"Hades!" He shouted; she blinked. This was a different place from Hadestown; older, _colder_. Their footsteps clicked against black and grey marble floors that cost enough to have fed her and Orpheus for many years.

He waited a moment, then sighed. "Come on, Hades, you're not the only one who is overworked! Your psychopomp is bringing you a new soul, so hustle! Well...not that new." He winked at her as if it was a funny joke. Eurydice did not find it funny. Eurydice wanted to go home. Eurydice was tired of being little more than meat in a dispute between two dogs.

She stared down at her hands, which were turning semi-transparent, the way many of the oldest workers in the mine were. Perhaps she was not even meat, now.

There was a swish of a dark cloud; like dust. She shivered as the temperature shifted, becoming colder. "Finally," the quicksilver god huffed. Eurydice frowned, oddly insulted by the idea that handing her off was some kind of great burden. Eurydice had worked hard in her short life and knew what hard work felt like, and leading a meek shade around sure didn't seem like work to her.

The first thing to appear out of the cloud were dark, cold brown eyes, so deep a dirt-brown as to almost be black. Then came the rest of the face — familiar and dour, that — then his shock of white hair, then his body. The sudden appearance had take seconds but she still felt ill at ease after seeing it. It was yet another bit of proof that Hades was not human, that he was something older, something more powerful than he had any right to be. He had changed only slightly since she'd seen him last; he was wearing a smoking jacket now but the same pants he'd had on when she left, black and silver stripes. He held a crystalline glass in his hands and neither he nor the quicksilver-eyed god seemed bothered by Hades’ sudden manifestation. He raised his eyebrows. "Ah," he said, and then sighed.

He turned toward the strange god who accompanied her. "Did she make it up okay?"

"Of course I didn't, I'm--" She held out her arms, illustrating her newfound transparency.

"I wasn't talking about you." Hades voice was hard as a rock and just as pitiless. "You're dead and you'll be dealt with in due time, ghost."

"Go easy," the traveling god hissed. "Can't you see how she's shaken? She’s been through a lot today.”

Hades just raised an eyebrow at them both, sipping at his liquid. It was surely wine, she thought, but the thick viscosity coated the glass in a way that made her uneasy. "I asked a question, Hermes." He finally said, and Hermes -- she memorized the name quickly -- shook his head.

"You don't need to be an asshole." Hermes sucked in his teeth and glared but Hades half-heartedly shrugged in response. "And 'Seph is fine. Made it up to momma nature _just fine_. She gave her a hug and sent her your love, which I doubt you intended and Demeter sure as hell didn't return, judging by her rolled eyes. Now that you're caught up with the latest upperworld gossip, can you take the girl back already? You're not the only god I have to deliver to tonight, and you know how my dad gets if he suspects for one second he's not the most important thing in the universe."

Hades' cool eyes slid from Hermes to her. Hermes squeezed her hand, but she derived no comfort from it, not when Hades was eying her like cattle come to market. She almost wondered if he was going to stick his hand in her mouth and check her teeth before he finally, slowly nodded.

"You're dismissed, nephew," he murmured to Hermes, cocking his head sideways. Hermes squeezed her hand but again, Eurydice felt no comfort. She could barely feel it at all.

"Thank ye, uncle," Hermes said, instantly in a better mood now that _he_  got to go home. She glanced between Hades and Hermes but failed to find any hint of resemblance; Hermes was as dark as Hades was light, as kind-looking as Hades was heartless. Hermes turned to Eurydice and nodded, smiling jovially. "Keep your wits about you," he whispered. "You'll sing for the boy again if you do."

Before she could say anything, Hermes slowly drifted away like a quicksilver grey cloud, as bright as Hades had been dark, and then in mere seconds, he was gone and she was left in the dim old hall with only the god of death for company.

Hades said nothing to her for a long minute, and she passed the time staring in the hall. She hadn't paid attention to where Hermes had led her, and she'd certainly never been here before. The hall was large, as if he expected a great number of guests but it was oddly silent and, so far as she could tell in the dim light, completely empty. She tried to find a light source but could only see torches dimly casting barely-visible pools of light. Hades sighed and she returned her attention to him. He looked tired. She wondered what, if anything, he would do. He was her master again, she supposed, and bit her lip. Everyone on the line knew Hades did not brook with trouble or failure, and she'd given him enough of both in the last day.

"Come," he said, and turned, walking deeper into the shadows. She hesitated for a moment, afraid to follow, and then realized the consequences would be worse if she didn't. There was no hope of escape anymore.

He did not turn to see if she walked behind.

She followed him through a dizzying amount of halls and rooms, up and down staircases that were all so darkly lit that at best she could describe the room as having shadows that suggested furniture rather than actually possessing it. After a while, there weren't even any windows anymore, which might have thrown her off more had she not been so deep underground as to render the existence of them almost theoretical.

She wondered where he was leading her, but feared to ask. He seemed quite content with the lack of conversation, but perhaps that was normal for him. She hadn't passed another soul since Hermes left.

There was a loud bang as Hades cracked open a door that looked warped. She jumped high in the air, startled. Hades looked back at her, shaking his head.

He sighed and then entered the door; when she followed, torches flared and she gasped in surprise. Unlike the rest of the strange castle, this room was well lit. And all the more terrifying for it.

"What is this?" She asked, staring around her. The room was better decorated than the other places, with long vines of some sort of grey plant etched into the walls; made of silver, she was guessing. Each vine clambered around 3 large woven tapestries, one in each portion of the room. The first, directly on top of the throne area, was easiest to identify, had the fewest people; it was simply Persephone and Hades, each sitting on an ancient silver set of thrones. Hades’ hair was darker in the image, deep black with just traces of silver, but the darkness in his eyes made him easily recognizable. Persephone was young enough she barely recognized the springtime goddess; her face still had a roundness to it, her eyes bright and sweet brown. Her eyes were on Hades with soft affection; her hand covering his. His eyes looked cold as ever, his face only softened by a slight smile that might well have been a grimace. Their thrones were connected, but distinct; hers made of delicate silver vines and his almost hammered out of rough blocks of hewn silver. Hades held a staff with two sharp points at the end, a trident with a missing prong, she thought; Persephone had a long staff, terminating in a delicate bird that nestled in her hand. The background was as black as the rest of the castle, nearly formless but for a field of white flowers that lay at their feet.

The second and third tapestries were people she did not know; the one on the left had a watery motif, with dozens of people leaning across a rocky throne, arising from the ocean with a broad-chested, blue-eyed man sitting upon it with a trident between his hands. His sharp chin and cheekbones suggested a resemblance to Hades, but his skin was the same tawny brown as Persephone's. On all sides of him were beautiful nymphs and mermen, with long glossy black hair and violet or blue eyes. It was these that made them look inhuman, not the fish tails; those eyes had seen every ocean, she had no doubt.

Eurydice had never seen an ocean and wondered what it would be like, to see such waters. It was hard to imagine living in a place that would have water on all sides; she could barely pull up a scant bucket from the old well on the best of days. The thought of living near an ocean that would be full of fish and _life_ —  it made her heart hurt.   She wondered if Orpheus had ever seen an ocean; they'd never talked about places they'd been, but she could see him there, ocean-breezes ruffling his short hair. Her heart twisted at the thought of him, and she moved on to the other portrait. 

The right portrait was similar; a group gathered around two thrones, one several feet higher than the other. The background was unmistakably a magnificent castle, with blue skies out its window and gilded trim on the walls. There were many people in this one, and after staring a moment, she found Hermes, his quicksilver eyes all but glowing off the page. She could take her guesses as to the dark-skinned woman next to him; Persephone's hair bounced over her shoulders and her rich brown eyes resembled her daughters. After a moment, she realized Persephone was in this picture, too, hiding a half-step behind Demeter, dressed in green finery; no staff here, though the youth in her other portrait remained. The man sitting in the largest throne here was as fair as Hades, with cool, fair blue eyes that seemed as if they moved as she watched him. The effect was unnerving. On the second throne, a small woman sat, looking down, in what might have been demure grace or deep depression.

Eurydice knew the feeling. How long had she kept her head down low? Too long. Too long and she had lost the only thing that mattered because of it. 

"My brother’s royal portraits," Hades said, his answer so long after her question that she almost jumped. He had moved to the chair at the center of his portrait, his look oddly sour as he sat upon it.

"And yours," she said, standing awkwardly. There was nowhere to sit, unless she took Persephone's throne, and that seemed presumptuous. So she stood.

"Such as it is, yes." He clapped his hands twice and a large table appeared, carved of strangely iridescent wood that gleamed in various shining colors; she had never seen such a thing in the living world. It was oddly bright in the luminous room; she placed a hand on it – smooth.  He waved a hand after a moment, and a chair appeared, dark mahogany with a red cushion sewn in; this, she recognized. The visitor's chair from his office. She blinked and a second later he was sitting at the table, his throne somehow pulled to it.

"Sit." He said. It was not a question. She sat, as she had a month ago, while he stared at her from across the table. She looked at her hands and wondered where Orpheus was, if he'd known what his look behind had brought her to. Tears threatened her eyes and she dabbed at the corners of them, not caring whether Hades saw her weakness.

"So, the boy failed," he said, looking at her and drumming his fingers. She glared up at him in anger; it was enough he had given them the foolish quest, worse still that Orpheus had failed it. He had no need to rub it in, and judging by his taciturn face, he didn’t even enjoy doing so.

“Obviously,” she said, and she didn’t bother to keep her disdain out of it. “As you knew he would.”

“Hm.” He held out a hand and his crystalline cup appeared; he twisted his fingers and more of the odd, reddish gold liquid appeared in it, filling it halfway and drifting into his hand. He snapped the fingers left on his free hand, and a drink of something clear materialized in an identical cup on her side.  “Drink.”

“Why?” She couldn’t imagine what was in it; she’d already gotten one bad deal with Hades, and she was already afraid of the next. And she trusted _nothing_ provided by the man. She had seen where his promises got her.  

“Because, songbird, I am a big believer in _informed_ choices.” He took a long drag of his drink and snapped his fingertips; seven large files appeared on the desk. He spread them out carefully and opened one; the other six also sprung open, and as he turned pages, so too did the other files he wasn't touching. She had hoped it would distract him from the fact she was not drinking, but he looked up at her a moment later. “Drink up.” 

She made no move to take a sip and he sighed. “Distrustful girl. That,” he said softly, pointing toward her. “Is the waters of Mnemosyne. It will simply help you… _remember_ …things. And it won’t do a scant thing more.”

“You set Orpheus up to fail, you made me come here. How do I know if I drink this, you won’t give me  memories that will make me afraid of you, make me…do things?” She frowned. “Would you give me her memories? Would you make me be…her?”

He looked at her oddly for a moment before laughing, loud and sinister and echoing across the halls. “No. No, child. You will be no concubine. And, for the matter: did I make your strumming poet fail his test, or make you come to me? No. It is simply…” He tipped his glass toward her. “Human nature, that led you to where you are. Now: _drink_. I tire of this.”

The tone of the voice brooked no arguments, and she thought of Hermes words: Keep your wits about you. He was not willing to compromise on this, and she would need to save her ability to persuade for when he would. At least he had signaled that he did not desire to take her in the worst of ways; in that, she felt some relief. She sighed and reached for the drink; she slammed it down quickly and gagged.

“Bitter?” He asked; she looked up, then blinked, startled. Her vision was becoming hazy, and for a moment, she thought, he had lied, and she had judged things wrong, undone by yet another unknown rule of the underworld.

 “What? I…What did you do?” She shivered; even her own voice sounded odd to her own ears, deep and dark. Something in her brain thundered across her skull; images flashed by her mind, too fast to catch but she saw the briefest of flashes: a rattlesnake, poison, water, a rope, and so many other bloody things.

 “Memories, songbird, as they are.” He stood, watching her, his hands in his pocket.  “Other lives, other times.”

“What’s happening to me?” She quivered, her head hurting as unfamiliar memories flooded through her, the story repeatedly told but always the same: one left, one remaining behind, until the story began again, and it had, again and again, and _again_ , so many times she felt dizzy. “Who am I? What _is_ this?”

“You are always Eurydice.” He shrugged, his familiar white hair and pitiless voice a momentary relief, and she focused on him, her own memories too painful to focus on for the moment. “There are roles to be played, songbird: a man and a woman, a judge and a petitioner.”

“Please, make it stop,” she whispered.  

“I am doing nothing, but it will fade. Close your eyes, if you must. You will know when it’s over.”

She screwed her eyes tight; a variety of scenes came crashing into her mind:

— _she was a maid waiting for her marriage bed, when the rattlesnake bit her, and then she had fallen, into a dark and dismal hall, an old man fishing her out of a fountain with little more than an exaggerated sigh —_

_— She was on a boat, desperate, sailing for a foreign shore, desperate to reunite with her lover, but the mighty sea god had swollen the waves, and she had called out her lover’s name, but too late, and she had fallen, brackish sea claiming her until she had come crashing into a grove, a woman’s hand swiping her brow, relieving her of fear until she realized where she was —_

— _She had grabbed a dagger, drove it deep, sobbing, after he had left for a war he never came home from, and it had hurt, it had hurt so much, and then an old man with a shock of white hair had grabbed her, put her in a long line, told her she could work off her sins—_

_— she had worked in the mines, worked so long and so hard and  she had never felt herself going as she worked herself down to nothing, her singing lover the only thing she had to comfort her; she awoke that time in a wide boat, rocking while a strange woman full of flowers sang an old and familiar song —_

Her heart hurt, and she grabbed at her chest, well aware of the tears that flowed from her eyes. She expected her heart to beat but it did not, of course; still, she felt sick. After a moment, the new memories of several lives and deaths ceased. Hades looked at her with shining, tired eyes and she wondered if that was worse than his casual disregard he had generally displayed toward her.

“It is an unfortunate thing,” he murmured. "Your fate." 

“What?” She blinked, trying to stop the ache in her heart. Knowing that Orpheus had sung for her, not just in this life, but in the life before, and the life before that, and the life before that, going all the way back to a time so ancient that the world was young, all but broke her.

“The  fate of all lovers, in the end, I suppose.” He shrugged. “One to stay, one to go.”

“What?” She blinked. He wasn’t making any damn sense at all and seemed in no hurry to do so.

“Eurydice, your part in this play is over. That is to say, _you’re dead._ It’s time we discuss your final destination.” He opened up the books ahead of him, flipping through them quietly; she saw a page in one, her and Orpheus smiling at the table, hands wrapped around one another’s, and her heart broke all over again.   

“What? No!” The idea of never seeing him again was the worst of all possible fates. She remembered he’d told Orpheus he would send him to the great beyond, and how she had quaked at the thought of never seeing him then. Hermes had told her there was a possibility she would see him again and now that she knew she’d lived more than one life with Orpheus, she knew that was possible. “Send me back again.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “This would be the eighth time, and given your non-existent success rate at passing my test, I am disinclined.”

“ _Send me again_.” She looked at him, wondering what the best tack to take was. He seemed not insensitive to the thought of love — he had let them go more than once. But he had also given them a test she knew now that he had every reason to know she would fail. But there was another argument, she thought, that might prove to sway him: surely she had served some purpose in his kingdom, and he had not said no. “What do you have to lose? If things don’t change, then — then you just get my free labor for a while, right? Until Orpheus succeeds or we ….we start the whole thing over, again.”

“I am the king of _all_ mortals, songbird.” He folded his arms across his chest, staring at her with an eyebrow raised. “What talents do you have that I could not find in another? What work could you do that I could not find a thousand, or even a million others, to do? There is no shortage of mortal souls. And I could easily find one who hasn’t been involved in attempting to overthrow my kingdom. Your strummer came close this time. You’ve been useful, but…” He smiled, and never, she thought, did he resemble the rattlesnake more than when he had his mouth open, his teeth as ominous and poisonous as fangs. “I’m a tired old man. And I haven’t the energy to deal with you and your boy, anymore.”

“Then let me go back to him, please, let him come back here and take me away.” She bit her lip and thought of Orpheus. Where was he now? Had he left the underworld at all? Would he come back down for her, if she failed to chip away at Hades’ heart? Would he love another? That last thought was the worst of them all, and she shivered. She could not entertain it. 

“I can’t do that.” He took a long sip of his wine-colored liquid again, finishing off the glass. It vanished from the table, as did her own. “There are rules here. Some older than I. You don’t come down here alive more than once.”

“Persephone does it every summer!”

“My wife is a special case.” He closed his eyes. “And a goddess, aside, and even _that_ took considerable craftiness. _Do not_ compare yourself to her, especially with me. You will be found wanting.”

“So what, the rules only apply to mortals?” She slammed her fist into his table, which barely even vibrated with her anger. “We get parted forever just because you’re – you’re _tired of us?_ ”

“There is no such thing as being lost  _forever_  to your lot.” His lips were thin, his eyes haggard. “Eventually, you all make it down here.”

“G _ive me one more song before I send you to the great beyond, where nobody can hear you singing._ ” She quoted his own words back to him and saw him flinch. “Which is it, Hades _Agesander?”_ That was a name she’d heard on the line, in hushed and forbidden whispers from shades so old she saw nothing of them but shadow and light. He did not look as perturbed when she threw it in his face as she’d hoped he would be. He didn’t look like it affected him at all.

“Agesander? People-taker?” He leaned back and shrugged. “Accurate enough. There are sacred laws, child, from my father’s time, and his father before, and perhaps in the great nothingness that was before that. Even we who are beyond time cannot stand against these rules. And the rules say nobody gets to come back down here  _alive_ more than once. You’re _dead_. Your boy cannot come until _his_ time.”  
  
“So no one who remembers what Hadestown _really_ is gets out, is that right? How convenient for you.”

“Songbird, you’re in my domain. And _I_ say where your soul goes. Or his. This is _my_ allotment, such as it is, and I am nothing if I am not _dutiful._ ” He snapped the first book of her life shut, and all seven others on the table snapped shut with it, seven definitive _nos_.

“No.” She pushed her way up from the table; she might not get away, but she was going to try. “No, I don’t accept your ruling.”

“You’ve _no_ choice. I’m the king.” He stood, but she did not turn back to him; she fled instead, reaching the heavy door and touching the knob. It did not open. “It doesn’t obey mortal hands. Come. Sit.”

“Don’t you understand _love_?” She hissed. “Don’t you know how hard it is to be away from him?”

“I do.” He stood, then, closed the gap between them in the blink of an eye. She turned, her back flush with the door, and knew she had to speak quickly, for his patience was running thin. “Believe me, songbird, I _know_ love and more than any deity above or below, I know the pain of being parted from a beloved one. But the facts remain: you are a _treasonous_ shade, and I am tired of watching you fail the same test, over and over again.”

“I don’t want your kingdom,” she said, her voice a harsh whisper. She hadn’t meant to cause a riot; she had only wanted to be allowed to leave.

“No one does.” He shrugged. “Not even I.”

“Can’t you give us one last test, please? I love him.”

“I know. I gave you seven chances, songbird. Love is a powerful thing, but clearly not enough in your case. Your test proved me right…” The look in his eyes suggested that he did not want to be right. It was a point worth pressing. And she knew he wasn’t right, not really. What kind of test was it? To send him ahead and her behind? To say that it tested them at all as a couple? _Keep your wits_ , Hermes said. She smiled.

She had him.

“The test was wrong.” She said it with as much confidence as she could muster, as much as she could allow herself to feel. She thought of Orpheus, singing beginning to warble off-key as he doubted her existence behind him.

“What?” He stared at her in surprise and she basked for one brief moment in near-hubristic glory at the thought of proving the dour god wrong.

“It was wrong. You tested _him_ , and he failed. But where is _our_ test? You said it yourself: _Nothing makes a man so bold, as a woman’s smile and a hand to hold. All alone his blood runs thin_. You sent him alone. You never allowed me to take part at all.”

“But the test…” He started, then frowned. “Hm.”

He was quiet for a long moment; he left her at the door, turned back to his desk. Pages flipped.

“That test doesn’t show who _we_ are. Are you the same person with Persephone as you are alone? Can you honestly say you would not do the same as Orpheus, if pressed in such a test?”

“Humph.” He reopened her file for a moment; pages turned in seven files as he sighed. “I can’t allow you a do-over. I meant what I said. The boy cannot return.”

“Then send me up top. Even if I forget who I am, even if he forgets me, I — please. I need him. And he _needs_ me.”

Hades was silent and quiet for a long moment. She did not dare to breathe, but she hoped. She  _hoped_. After a moment, he stood to his full height and snapped his fingers; her file disappeared, then the table, and then, at long last, the throne, which reappeared seconds later next to Persephone’s delicate one. He looked up and cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Hermes! Come! I have need of you.” He tapped his feet a moment and she could almost leap and embrace him. Surely he wasn’t calling Hermes to grab Orpheus, which meant he was _sending her back_. She did not dare to voice her hope, but it beat in her chest, green and glowing. She had no heartbeat, but still: she believed. 

“10 Years.”

“What?” 

“I’ll restore you. You have 10 years. If you can make it that long without either of you separating from the other, or deceiving one another, or otherwise parting…” He waved his fingers. “Then when it is _his_ time, I will take you both. If you or your boy should, however, prove unfaithful or depart one another…You will return to me, at that moment, with the boy with you, and we will deal with you accordingly for the _last_ time. You will either succeed together, or end together. This is the deal I am offering. With, of course, the _proviso_ that you both accept any judgment I or Persephone shall give you, and you do not intercede with any manner of rule in my kingdom. Ever.”

“Deal,” she said, and held out her hand. It was an easy deal; Orpheus would not move on without her, anyway. And she'd rather die by his side — or be flushed into the great beyond — with him, rather than without. After a moment, he shook it.

“You bargain with both your lives now. Remember that, songbird.”

She felt a burst of quicksilver dust near her and moved slightly as Hermes re-appeared, wings first.

“Come on, uncle,” the old god wheezed. “Your sister made such glorious ambrosia that my mouth was watering without even tasting it and before I can even pick up a slice I’m getting called to oh — _Oh_.” He looked at Eurydice, then back at Hades. “What’s this? I hadn’t thought you’d have kept her here so long.”

“A return to sender,” Hades said, shrugging. He snapped his fingers. “Bring her upstairs. To the boy. We’ve reached an accord.”

“An accord? Do tell.” Hermes looked at her, obvious pride in his eyes. He winked and grabbed her arm. “Well, girl, you’ll have to tell me on the way up, at least. Is there anything more, uncle?”

“No.” Hades sounded tired, positively ancient, and she wondered how long he had been there. Perhaps he needed a reminder of what he was doing this for.

“Thank you,” she said, and he looked up, surprise on his face. He did not smile, but she could not stop herself from doing so. She was going back to Orpheus. She was going home! 

“Go,” Hades said, simply, by way of parting. “Leave me be.”

“We won’t keep you, uncle. Now do hold on, Eurydice.” She grabbed one of his winged sleeves, expecting him to take her back the way she had almost gone the last time. But instead, she felt herself disappearing with him, and for a moment was afraid, before a voice in her mind whispered _relax, this is **much** quicker._

“Thank you,” she said, or tried to say — she wasn’t sure, exactly, if she had a mouth in this strange crossing period. However she conveyed it, the voice laughed, and she knew from the laugh that it was Hermes.

_I knew he would let you go if you kept your wits about you — though it would have been better for me if he had released you tomorrow; Persephone had today when we were taking bets on it and now I owe her. And sadly, she always collects. But if that’s the worst of it, well I suppose that’s just fine. But you’ll think of your friend Hermes should I cross your door upstairs, I hope?_

She smiled. “I can’t make you ambrosia, but I make a very good moussaka.” She tried to look around them, to see, but she could see nothing but formless smoke.  

 _Sounds lovely._ _Close your eyes, Eurydice, we’re breaking surface now_ , Hermes said, and she did not argue.

Hermes left her outside of the underworld, near the small campsite that she knew Orpheus would call home. “You’ll walk the rest of the way alone,” he’d said, but he’d smiled, and she knew it would be alright.

“I’m not alone, not really.” She listened in the wind for the sound of soft notes being plucked, and found them. Orpheus was _here_ , and close. “I always have him with me.”

Hermes nodded and smiled, and then he was gone. She walked along, the music growing louder, and her heart beating faster at every plucked string. It felt almost startling, being alive again; the grass under her feet fell almost overwhelmingly ticklish, the scent of flowers and blossoms in the wind almost mouthwatering. She threw open her hands and rejoiced in the moment, running toward the sound.

And then she saw him.

He was sitting around a campfire, his hands on his guitar. “ _I sing of Eurydice, of a love profound_ ,” he hummed, and her heart melted. He looked so haunted that she could not bear his suffering for one moment more.  
  
“Orpheus,” she said.

And she knew by his reaction that his world had come crashing down again; he yelled, loud as the waves of a life long-passed, throwing down his guitar and picking her up a moment later.

“Eurydice! Is – is it true? Is it _you_?” She smiled and kissed him in response, her heart thundering and almost as overwhelming as his kiss.

“Of course it’s true.” She leaned against him, smelled the warm scent of his shirt, breathed deeply, and Orpheus held her so tightly that she honestly thought he was trying to pull her into himself.

“How?” He touched her cheek, his fingers almost hesitant. “This really isn’t a dream? You feel so real.”

“It’s a long story, but I’ll tell it to you, and we’ll tell it again and again.” She thumbed her fingers through his, rejoicing in the simple connection between them: the feel of his breath on her cheek, the calluses of his fingers on her hands. “And you know how I know that’s so?”  
  
“How’s that so?” He said, his voice a whispering tremor.

“Because I’m the girl who's gonna marry you.” She kissed him again then, hard, until they were both breathless, and then she kissed him again. When they could speak again, Orpheus stared deep in her eyes, and he placed a hand upon her chin. 

“I do,” he said, and he took her home.


End file.
